Three Books

1. Out of Contact with the Holy Qabalah
2. Concerning the Whirlpool and Leviathan
3. The Master of Saturn

1. To be Out of Contact with the Holy Qabalah is to imply firstly that you were, at some point, in contact with it. The opening of the next level inthe underworld, distilled from the heat of the holy, and the mothbaby, the lord of 2 places will appear differently ordered at times. Bird was qlippothic shell - found, not made. Inverted netzach, venus as a foul bastard attempting to shroud all things with it's feathers - weak cloaks of veils in flapping wings

2. Concerning the Whirpool and Leviathan
The fish ate the meat of the dead black leviathan, The white Leviathan then disappeared. Something new emerged - the Whirlpool and it's will to eat the fish. The cards fell in a tailormade suit. A Jackal pours vodka all over the ruins of eden, even as Leviathan, the 67/68 Blade of the Whirlpool, tossed the Goddess in the seas to sink. The whirlpool is a cruel thing - delving into it, getting the name of RAAGIOSeL, Great king of the Western Quadrangle. The king of the dissolution and the quadrangle of the great rivers and seas to the minimum. Emerge, Unscathed and Unbroken from Harsh Black seas of Pity and malformed imagery. Dead Black Leviathan's vengeance felt in remote corners of desolate ocean floor's abandoned ruins - a cold hinge of poison to hang the fish on lurks in the watery aire. Seas of nothingness, still. Viral waters infect; the fish lay on the ocean floor awaiting their release. Abyssal well, bottomless, opens consuming fish whole. Vast whirlpool in place of ocean, ghost of dead black leviathan swimming in the currents against white leviathan - the currents of opposing vector sliding past each other. White Leviathan Swims in circles, chasing it's self intangible, all pervading infection, scrape skin, peel back light harmonics. White Leviathans Form breaks free of constraint. Black Lotus wilting below. But below is the ghost in the lotus. He went past in infinite direction. White Leviathan fails at his pitiful attempts to transcend the waters in which the innocent fish once swam, poisoned and infected with the disease Black Leviathan cursed their seas with. Flies spring forth from stagnant water to invade the circle, set forth in motion in twisted whirlpool circular loops. He is pulled back into unsubstantial whirlpool nightmares. Twisted Hierophant watching on the sideline with a sinister grin upon his face. Feed upon the face on the jetstreams' skrying surface looking back at him, the water falling from the hierophant's vein sustains the tainted environment.

3. The Master of Saturn
An hour a day, two hours, with these books, his is the role of the senses, not the master. Absorbed in Malkuthian dataforms. Shiny fractal lightwaves cross modulating into solid sphere. Ion of all. Temple of the woods; the province of Saturn. A sage and the pyramid - shooting out into the forest and the one (ay)I(n) had been become an initiate of the woods. A scythe's sharp cut through air muttered. Sound Made Solid in dancing mad godform of small stature. Beaten mercilessly and left cut and bruised by the jagged edge of earthen mountain, Horus lay, adorned in hawk feather astral garb, awaiting his final transmutation. Solitary Hermit approaches him on mountain cliff, Lamp and Sword in hand, he brings a swift end to the madness in a moment of utmost Mercy. Sigillic designs spill down the blade in the blood of a God pushed to his next level of resonant shimmering, the Lamp's light no longer visible to ayin. Circular fixtures break, omnidirectional two-way data flow opens endlessly present feedback loop. Pushed into neo-color brillance, he is lulled by the light beyond malkuth's peak. Agents infect and install new Godform Sephira programme. Split madverse in single vessel, pulled in infinite direction. Asymmetrically horned pandrogynous being breaks free from the rotting corpse of the former Master of Saturn. S.R. - Mutant BiGodhead of this Sephira throughout non-linear time - kills his phoenix ashes' assassins with a clumsy grace, a sort of movement indicating bad reception of his remote biological control unit laying in the hands of madmen archdaemonform - this most likely due to damaged neural circuitry on the end of this divine biomachine. "I am speech, and the divine is the incorporation of the 10th aethyr" he hears. His students arose, the full bodymind stops, "We dare not draw
back." Pulling the veils of time in counter-clockwise direction, his transmutation reaches it's final state.